


Five people who initially have doubts about Belle and Rumplestiltskin and one who doesn't

by gointorosedale



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gointorosedale/pseuds/gointorosedale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Rumplestiltskin are a bit of a controversial couple in Storybrooke. </p><p>Five people over the course of one day who think the two of them might be better off going their separate ways. (And one who never for a moment thought so.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five people who initially have doubts about Belle and Rumplestiltskin and one who doesn't

  **1\. Emma, 8.30**

It's a Wednesday morning when Emma first sees Belle and Rumplestiltskin together – really properly together, as themselves and everything. It's eight thirty and she's just come into the diner for her morning coffee, like most of Storybrooke.

Emma orders her plain black coffee and leans against the counter, too tired to chat with Ruby, and it's then that she notices Gold ordered after her. He's standing near the counter now, ahead of her, looking as unruffled as ever despite the early hour, and something about it catches her attention.

There's something about Gold – something graceful and untouchable, not quite regal. He always gives off the impression that he knows something you don't (and of course, most of the time he does) and that you're so far beneath him you should feel proud the moment you get even a sliver of attention. He looks out of place amongst the normal folk of Storybrooke, but at the same time blends easily into the background, all menacing glares and silent power. He's a study in contrasts, she thinks, and for all that Emma has known many people, she's never quite met anyone like Mr. Gold.

He's standing there now, leaning on his cane, and when he notices Emma's staring he inclines his head coolly and turns back to watching Ruby pour his coffee. His posture is neat and everything about him radiates control. And yet, Emma has seen him so out of control that he nearly beat a man to death.

Behind him, by one of the tables, Emma sees Belle. She's chatting with an older women with salt-and-pepper hair and weary eyes and it strikes Emma, suddenly, just how well she fits in. Belle has always been a little strange to Emma (not in the least because of her relationship with Rumplestiltskin) with the whole memory loss and Lacey and everything, but it strikes Emma now just how well she blends in.

The strangeness, a sort of unreachable otherworldliness that only Gold seems to have, doesn't match up with Belle, Emma realizes. Belle – all bright sunny smiles and exuberant waves at local kids as she makes her way to the library – suits the small town life in a way Gold never quite seems to, with all his grandeur and expensive suits. Belle looks like your ordinary girl-next-door, sweet-faced and soft, and it's easy to forget just what her history is, whereas one look at Gold tells you he has history, even if you don't know exactly what it is.

Belle laughs at something the other woman says, loud and real, and Emma swears she sees Gold's lips twitch. It makes him look – for a moment – like a human being, grounded and soft.

“Emma?” Ruby asks, and Emma snaps out of it, turning back to the waitress.

“I'm sorry?” she asks, kicking herself for the unsubtle staring.

“Your coffee to go?” Ruby holds out the paper cup with a mischievous look and a tone that says she knows exactly what Emma was doing. Emma's sure Ruby, being Ruby, is getting all sorts of wrong ideas.

Emma pulls a face and reaches out to take the cup. “Yeah, thanks, Ruby.” She resists the urge to eye Gold again and instead, looks around for an empty booth. “I think I'll sit down for this one, though.”

Without waiting to see Ruby's look of disapproval, Emma takes her coffee and moves to the corner booth. She only looks back at Gold when she's properly seated, and when she does Belle is waving the other woman goodbye and making her way towards him. She joins Gold at the counter without a word, only smiling up at him for a second before taking a book out of nowhere and focusing on that.

It should look strange, Emma thinks as she's watching the two of them in what she hopes is a very inconspicuous way. Gold with his otherworldliness and Belle with her down-to-earth ease, the two of them standing next to each other should look all sorts of wrong. But there's an ease to both of them, the way they relax into each other even without touching, a little bubble formed around them. There's a comfort in their bodies that speaks volumes about how well they know each other.

Emma will admit that she has always been morbidly curious about them. She finds it hard to believe the whole thing isn't at least a little shady, having heard their story. Mary Margret told her one night after dinner, fidgeting with her wine glass. She told Emma about the famed princess Belle and how she sacrificed herself to save her people, how she lived with the beast. How, apparently, she fell in love with him. The whole thing sounded dubious at best to Emma, who is after all an expert in unhealthy relationships.

It seemed impossible to her that two people who seemingly had so little in common could get along, and that was without touching on the fact that Gold dealt for Belle like she wasn't even a person. Emma's been in relationships where the other party thought she wasn't a person, and she wouldn't wish that sort of thing on anyone.

So yeah, Emma has her doubts about the whole thing. They're two consenting adults and all, sure, but it makes her uncomfortable. It's not necessarily that she has an issue with Rumplestiltskin or anything – because if there's anyone who understands the concept of redemption and forgiveness, it's Emma – and honestly Emma kind of likes the guy. He's not always a good person but he seems to be trying, and Emma appreciates that.

Still, there's something off about the idea of him and Belle together because Emma always gets the sense that while Gold is on his best behavior for Belle, he would snap and lash out the instant she was gone. Emma knows if you're trying to be better only for other people you invariably screw up again. And that's the heart of the matter, Emma thinks, watching the two of them leave the diner with their coffee. Because Emma has a hard time believing that Gold is trying for his own sake and if he isn't – well, that's just waiting for Belle to get hurt.

“What the hell was that?” Ruby hisses out as she appears at Emma's booth, throwing Emma out of her thoughts. She smiles at another customer for a second, then turns back to Emma. Emma's about to ask what Ruby's talking about when she cuts her off before she's even started. “Why were you watching Belle and Gold?”

Emma taps the side of her coffee cup like that will answer for her, then scratches the back of her head and shrugs. “I – well, I honestly don't... Feel comfortable with them?” Emma pulls a face at her own answer. “I worry about Belle, you know?” Emma continues, looking at the two of them outside.

Ruby's face softens. “Yeah,” she says, thoughtful, looking out the window as well. Belle and Gold are walking down the street, side by side, looking strange and out of place and as natural as breathing. “Me too, sometimes. But Belle can handle herself, okay? She doesn't need people thinking she can't.”

“Look,” Emma says with a sigh, shaking her curls out of her face. “You're her friend, right, Ruby?”

Ruby nods, wide-eyed and honest and Emma can see the genuine caring in her eyes, the heart. Ruby's such a genuine person with so much love to give, and Emma is glad to see it go to Belle – who seems to need it, judging from her history. “Of course. She's, yeah, she's my friend.”

“Good,” Emma says. “Look after her, okay? Even if you think she doesn't need it.”

Ruby sighs and looks exasperated, but there's already another customer coming in and she doesn't have time to argue.

“I will,” she says, though she's shaking her head in disapproval.

  
  


**2\. Ruby, 10.15**

It's only when the morning rush has calmed down and Ruby's wiping down the counter that Granny asks. Ruby knows she's been waiting for it all morning – could smell the curiosity (or nosiness, more like) hanging all over her – but the diner was far too crowded to get any real talking done. Now, though, it's calmed down and emptied out save for a middle-aged woman sipping tea in the corner.

Ruby diligently keeps her eyes on the crumb-flecked counter as Granny appears beside her.

“What was that all about, with Emma?”

Ruby doesn't even need to look at her grandmother to know that she's doing that narrowing-her-eyes thing that convinces everyone she can stare into their soul. But Ruby's had years of practice, she's good at ignoring it.

She shrugs. “Just making friendly conversation.”

Granny huffs. “That girl doesn't do 'friendly conversation' and she was acting awfully strange this morning. What did she want?”

Unfortunately by now there is no possible way the counter could be any cleaner so Ruby sighs and turns to face Granny. “If you have to know, she wanted me to keep an eye out on Belle. Doesn't trust Gold, I guess.”

Granny nods, suspicions confirmed. “And you said?”

“I said I didn't think it was necessary, but I'd keep an eye out because she wanted me to.”

Granny opens her mouth to say something, no doubt start some lecture or other that Ruby could certainly do without, but Ruby cuts her off. “No, look, I get that you think Gold's a dangerous creep but Belle's a big girl, she can make her own decisions.”

“I'm not saying she can't,” Granny says, following Ruby into the kitchen.

“No,” Ruby snaps, pausing in the middle of the kitchen and turning to Granny. “No, you're just saying you don't trust her judgment, just like everyone else in this stupid town.”

Granny shuts up at that and Ruby feels strangely gratified at her indignant expression.

“I had my doubts about them too, okay,” Ruby says, hand on the back door. “But if this is what Belle wants then I trust her to make the right decision. Because she's my friend, and a human being and people in this town need to stay out of her business. And I'm taking my break.”

And with that, Ruby opens the door and storms out. It was easier to be so defiant to Granny than to Emma, which makes sense. Ruby isn't as impressed by Granny anymore, not after living with her for so long.  


“I'm only looking out for her,” Ruby hears Granny shout at the closed door but Ruby's already sat down on the single chair they keep behind the diner for breaks.

And she knows that Granny's only looking out for Belle, she gets that. Belle is family now, ever since she walked into the diner looking like a like a lost pup. Ruby knew that look – the haunted, confused look of someone who'd been running through the dense forest for so long that they found themselves blinded by the sun when coming upon a meadow. It's dizzying, the sudden space and empty, the freedom to go wherever you want.

So Ruby had put on her kindest smile and softest voice, and the moment Belle said the words _kept woman_ , Ruby decided she'd be the friend Belle obviously needed.

When she'd learned just whose _kept woman_ Belle had been, Ruby had been shocked. They'd been in Ruby's cramped little bedroom, sitting across from each other on her single bed, and Ruby had reacted on impulse.

 _How can you love him?_ she'd asked, shrill, _he's –_ and she'd stopped, swallowed her next words on her wolf's tongue when she realized what she was going to say. But the word _monster_ hung unspoken but not unheard around them, and Ruby lowered her eyes.

 _Human. Worthy of love_ , Belle had said, reaching out to cover Ruby's hand with her own. And Ruby had swallowed and decided that if Belle said he was worthy of love despite the things he'd done, then he was, and if that coincidentally meant that maybe she was too then that was neither here nor there.

It was hard not to be a bit wary, all the same. Ruby Lucas never liked Mr. Gold – got to know him growing up as the man who came by once a month and made Granny angry – and Red had heard the horrible stories about the Dark One enough to know to stay away. But there's a solidarity in being a monster, in knowing you've consciously, purposefully hurt people, remembering the snap of bone and the flesh stuck between claws, the blood in fur. Ruby's eaten her way through entire armies and she's tired of judging herself for it, so if Rumplestiltskin loves Belle and treats her right then Ruby won't complain.

And of course, the most important part in all of this is Belle, Ruby thinks. Because it's Belle choice in the end, which is why Ruby will stand by Belle and support her in this even if she think Gold is a shady old guy. It's what Belle wants, and no one gets to talk her out of it.

Behind her, the back door suddenly opens. Granny's standing in the door opening, looking strangely soft and sympathetic. “Break's up,” she says, but her voice is kind. “You coming back to work?”

Ruby sighs and pushes herself out of the chair. There's always more work to be done at the diner, it seems. “I'm not going to check on Belle to make sure she's safe all the time, or anything like that,” Ruby says just to be sure. Granny and her are trying not to fight as much – compromise and all that – but this isn't something Ruby's going to change her mind on. Belle is her friend and if Gold is what she wants, Ruby will support her to the end.  


Granny nods, looking resigned. “I know.”

  
  


**3\. Regina, 12.15**

“Belle, could I borrow Rumple from you for a second?” Regina asks as soon as she's entered the shop. She hadn't planned on Belle being there, but apparently she'd decided to have her lunch break at the shop because the two of them appeared from behind the curtain that led to the back room. At least, Regina hopes they were having lunch.

Belle looks at her curiously, brows furrowed. Belle and Regina had established a very delicate truce in the last few weeks. It was a careful little thing, but Regina had come to cherish it ever since she stepped into the library one afternoon, tired and hopeless, all broken-voiced _I'm sorry_ and averted eyes. It wasn't a fond memory but Regina had found Belle to be a very forgiving person and when she'd given her a long look before reaching out and offering forgiveness, Regina had reached for it desperately.

In the past few weeks, Regina has found that Belle is one of the most amazing women she's ever known. She could have known, of course, that whoever was Rumplestiltskin's true love would never be a meek little lamb, but she'd been so blinded by grief that she'd never paused to think of what Belle was like. Turns out, she's clever and sweet and has an endless capacity for love that Regina rather envies. She's become strangely protective of Belle now but she can't help but see in her the person she'd like to have become, if circumstances were different.

Regina's learning to be better, and Belle's light presence makes her feel worthy.

Belle is looking at her now with a look that clearly means _explain yourself_ , but Regina really does need to talk to Rumplestiltskin and no one else. Still, she's careful to keep looking at Belle, trying to make it clear that the question is directed at Belle and she has all the freedom in the world to say no.

She doesn't.

She looks between the two of them, Regina and Rumplestiltskin, and seems to come to the conclusion that she trusts them on their own now, which is saying something for the progress they've both made. Belle nods and smiles at both of them, pressing a quick kiss to Rumplestiltskin's cheek and putting a hand on Regina's shoulder before she leaves.

And then Regina is alone with Rumplestiltskin, and suddenly it's hard to breathe. Regina knows that Rumplestiltskin isn't really going to hurt her, but decades of ingrained behavior mean Regina tenses up automatically whenever she finds herself alone with the Dark One, and it's a hard habit to break, trying not to snap at him before he can harm her, trying not to do first damage.

She can see Rumple's having the same problem. He's standing behind the counter, looking awkward and guarded, eyeing her like he's not sure if he should be on the defensive or offensive.

Regina thinks of why she's doing this and breathes through it, and looks Rumplestiltskin in the eye.

“We need to talk about Belle,” she says.

And those are dangerous words, she knows. Because Rumplestiltskin does not take kindly to anyone threatening his relationship with Belle (but himself, Regina thinks nastily, remembering how she used to cry out in her sleep in the tower, begging Rumple not to throw her out) and Regina knows that the instant she said it, the Dark One heard _threat_.

“Do we?” he asks, a warning.

“I know you don't want to hear this and you're going to think I'm trying to ruin you or Belle or something, but I'm trying to help you. The both of you,” Regina says and she has to pause and compose herself after that, keep from sounding quite so desperate. “Look, believe it or not but I care about the two of you.”

It feels a little like epiphany, saying that. Because Regina's still getting used to this whole redeeming business and she's definitely not used to looking out for anyone other than herself and her son. Finding out that she really does care about Belle enough to confront the beast for it, well, that's a strange new thing.

Rumple doesn't look too pleased with it, but he knows that hearing her out is easier than starting a fight. They're like two alcoholics, Regina thinks, sitting across from each other in a dark room at a table with a single bottle on it and all the lights pointed towards it, both staring desperately at the bottle and just waiting for the other to mess up so they can go right after and defend themselves with _but they started it._

Thinking of Henry's smile when he'd come to the library after school and seen Regina and Belle in the middle of a friendly chat, she resolves to pretend the bottle isn't even there.

Rumple seems to come to the same conclusion and forces out “And what exactly do we need to discuss about Belle?” and if he were anyone other than Rumplestiltskin his teeth would grit.

Regina looks at him. When she planned this, she'd meant to be direct. Just say it outright, plain and simple, none of that spinning of words that Rumplestiltskin is so fond of. Regina knows her no-longer-enemy and she knows that the instant words are involved with Rumple, everything becomes complicated and thorny. He's better with words than her, always was, but being direct is hard when he's staring at her with all the fierceness of the Dark One.

Regina takes a deep breath, thinks of Henry, and says: “You should consider letting her go.”

Rumplestiltskin's eye actually twitches.

“I have,” he says after a moment, sounding not quite serious. “Frequently and quite forcibly. It never seems to stick.”

“I'm serious, Rumple,” Regina says, almost shouts and it catches her off guard. She's surprised again and again about how strongly she can feel about other people. She feels off-kilter and young at that realization. “You, you're not good to the people you love,” Regina says. “And Belle is precious and good and if you hurt her, you'll–” Regina cuts herself off because she's not even sure where she's going with this but all she knows is there's this fear in her stomach – a horrible, knotted, twisting thing, like acidic vines climbing up to her throat – and she cares about Belle and everyone she cares about gets hurt and Regina doesn't want to see that happen to someone as good as Belle.

Rumple, throughout her speech, is looking at his hands. His posture is perfect, straight-backed and rigid. He licks his lips and Regina can _see_ how carefully he's considering his words.

“I know that,” he finally says, slow and precise. Regina can see them again, in the room, pouring the bottle down the drain with careful precise movements and trembling hands. He swallows, licks his lips again, looks at his hands, looks around the shop like it might provide the right words. Back at his hands. “If she chooses to leave me, she'll leave. But it's not really up to us to decide that, is it?”

Regina makes a sound like a wounded animal. “I just want Belle to be safe,” she says, tired. “She's–” and Regina hesitates here because what if it's not true? What if Belle was just being polite all the times they talked? Regina did lock her up and curse her and hurt her true love, and in the dim light of the shop it seems impossible that any one person could be so forgiving as to forget that.

Still, Regina takes a deep breath and pushes on. “She's my friend.” _I need her safe and happy and you are not safe,_ Regina thinks but doesn't say.

She's fairly sure Rumplestiltskin hears it anyway as he finally looks her in the eye again and there's something almost like humor glittering in his eyes as he says “You've not exactly proven to be safe company either, yet Belle insists on befriending you. She has a leaning towards monsters. I doubt either of us can do much about that.” He shrugs. “We'll both simply have to try our best,” he says.

Regina feels hopeless and light and lost but for the first time today she can almost see the glimmer of hope within reach, ready for her to take it, floating with the dust motes in the dark shop. She thinks of the room again, and her and Rumplestiltskin in the near-darkness, and the shining dark bottle on the table, and thinks that maybe Belle is in the room as well, encouraging them on.

  
  


**4\. Hook, 17.00**

Killian Jones is a bad man. He knows this and he doesn't try to cover it up anymore. He was always a bit of a scoundrel, which kind of comes with the territory when one is a pirate, and Milah's death didn't do him any favors, so nowadays he's fully embraced his status as the man people warn their children away from.

So when, after having a bit to drink, he finds himself breaking into Rumplestiltskin's house, he's entirely _not_ surprised.

The house isn't even that hard to get into, and Killian bitterly thinks that Rumplestiltskin is so arrogant and secure in his power that he thinks no one would ever try. Well, he's clearly wrong.

Killian hasn't even been inside the house for a minute – is still looking around the living room, actually, awed and angry at the blatant display of wealth – when he sees a flash of auburn in front of him and promptly gets knocked over the head. He gives a surprised shout and collapses against the nearby cabinet, digging his hook into it as his hand reaches for the back of his head. Pain is blooming through his skull, throbbing and white-hot, and for a second all Killian can hear is a strange sort of buzzing and the rushing of his own blood.

He keeps his hand to his head and looks up, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through him, and sees a woman, dark curls, lavender apron, angry eyes, determined set to her jaw. She's holding a frying pan.

“What are you doing here?” he asks Belle.

“What do you think I'm doing here?” she nearly shouts and Killian winces at the shrill sound. “I live here! What are _you_ doing here?”

Killian frowns. He hadn't expected Belle to still be living with the beast. He'd expected him to have kicked her out by now or driven her away or perhaps devoured her whole for dinner. He'd certainly not expected to find her in his house, holding a pan.

“Well?” she asks, gesturing with the pan.

Killian holds up his hands, which is meant as a placating gesture but is apparently taken as a threat because she jabs the thing forward like it's a sword. He supposes it could have been an attack, what with the sharp and pointy hook.

“Will you lower that thing?” Killian asks, pushing himself upright and trying to stay steady. The combination of a fair amount of rum and a blow to the head is leaving him rather wobbly.

“Not until I'm sure you won't kill me,” Belle says, grimly determined.

Killian sighs and presses a hand to his forehead, feeling an ache start up there too. Gods, what a day this is turning into. His mother always said no good came of drinking before sundown.

“I wasn't going to kill you, okay?” he says. “I didn't even know you were here! I was–”

“Going to kill Rumplestiltskin?” she snaps, brows furrowed, face the picture of disgust and anger. Between Killian's blurry vision and the still ringing ears, for a moment, as he narrows his eyes in pain, she looks like a lioness.

“No!” he exclaims, “I wasn't going to kill anyone, I just,” Killian pauses and groans and presses his hand into his forehead again, harder this time. He doesn't know how to put it, that feeling.

He'd gone for a walk in the harbor this morning and he couldn't get the image of Milah's hair blowing in the wind out of his head. So he'd sat down and had a few drinks to get it out of his mind but he couldn't stop thinking how unfair it was that his beautiful Milah was dead and Rumplestiltskin was alive and walking around free and he'd needed to do something, to _hurt_ something and it seemed natural to look for Rumplestiltskin. He hadn't planned to do anything, really, just goad him into trading a few punches.

“I just want to hurt him,” Killian says, voice hoarse. “It's not fair.” He knows he sounds like a child but he feels like a child, lost and lonely.

Belle's face softens a little and she lowers the hand with the pan to her side. “I know,” she says, soft and sympathetic, but with an undercurrent of steel that surprises him. “And I'm sorry for your loss and Rumplestiltskin is sorry too, but hurting him won't change anything and it won't bring her back.” She approaches him, careful but not hesitant or unsure. “You have to move on,” she says, gentle but firm.

Killian huffs out a laugh. “Have you considered becoming a schoolteacher?” he asks, not looking at her, fidgeting with his hook. “Authority looks good on you.” It doesn't come out quite right, lacking the usual leer. Belle doesn't answer and Killian doesn't know what to say, doesn't want to think anymore.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again. “You could do anything, be anything. Why here, in this house with the Dark One? Why him?”

And it's a question that has been bothering him for a while. It's not that he expects all good things to happen only to good people – after all, Killian found love and he was never a good person. But Belle is so very soft and human, and Rumplestiltskin is so very not. Killian can't make sense of it, these two.

Killian looks at Belle again and he can see that that was the wrong question, anger taking over her face. “Why does everyone keep asking that? I don't have to explain my decisions to anyone, let alone the whole town.”

“But he's a _bad person_ , he doesn't deserve you. He _murdered_ my Milah.”

“Love isn't about deserving things, Hook. We don't fall in love because we deserve it.”

Killian feels the weight of his three hundred years and the blow to the head and the rum and above all, the heavy ache of Milah's absence, the constant black hole by his side that sucks in all the air around him. “Then why?” he asks, desperate and weary, needing an answer.

Belle sighs and Killian can see her hunch into herself, looking around the room like it has an answer. “No one knows that. It's not what matters.”

Killian frowns and his eyes are burning, tearing up, the memory of Milah a physical presence by his side. He turns on his heel and storms out of the house  
  
  


**5\. Rumplestiltskin, 19.25**

“I'm sorry Hook broke into the house and damaged the furniture. And I'm sorry I burned the pasta,” Belle adds, picking up her sandwich.

“It's okay, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin says, tone tired. “I'm sorry I haven't got much of an appetite after my encounter with Regina.” He's fidgeting with his own sandwich, mostly untouched, pulling out bits of bread and rolling it up like a child. He hasn't been able to stop thinking of Regina's words all day, and he's spent most of the afternoon in the shop determinedly polishing things and trying not to think of it.

Rumplestiltskin won't send Belle away, no matter what. He's tried it before and it was a stupid idea and it went horribly wrong so Belle can stay for as long as she wants, but that doesn't change the fact that Regina was right. Rumplestiltskin hurts the people he loves and there's nothing he can do about that.

It's a tense living, here in their pink little palace, because Rumplestiltskin is always aware of that fact. He's always waiting for something terrible to happen, for him to have a bad day and lash out and he can practically see it, his own monstrous anger, Belle, broken-hearted but fierce, just like when she first left him. He's pretty sure that Belle wouldn't come back this time, and he wouldn't _want_ her to because gods, he can't do that to her again.

Rumplestiltskin looks up from the simple sandwich to see Belle staring intently at him. She sighs when he averts his eyes and sets her own sandwich down. “We're alright, aren't we, Rumple? I know you worry, but we've been through worse.”

Which is true, he supposes. Thirty years of imprisonment are worse than a town full of people thinking they're a horrible match. Their time apart – the slow torturous drag of each day without Belle, the midnight wanderings through the castle, trying to avoid every single place that reminded him of her – a few disapproving townspeople pales in comparison to that. But the problem is, they know exactly how to be apart, and they simply never learned how to be together.

They're doing fine now, Belle would say. True, Rumplestiltskin supposes, but he remembers a time when Milah and him were fine, too. He remembers endless nights talking about their dreams, morning laughter, walks through a sun drenched forest. Sometimes Rumplestiltskin still isn't quite sure what happened to them, and the fear that whatever it was will happen to him and Belle keeps him awake sometimes.

Rumplestiltskin nods at Belle and gives a tight smile. "Of course," he says.  
  
Belle smiles back, a trembling little thing, and Rumplestiltskin feels like the worst kind of monster for it. Belle shouldn't have to look like that.

They finish their dinner in silence, which mostly means that Belle eats her sandwich with deliberate movements while Rumplestiltskin takes a few half-hearted bites because he'd feel guilty for not eating it. 

Afterwards, Belle makes no move to clean up the kitchen or the table. Instead, when Rumplestiltskin pushes himself to his feet with his cane, she moves over and takes his free hand. Rumplestiltskin looks up at her, tired and confused and miserable, and she smiles, a little more strongly this time, and gently tugs him along. 

He follows her, like he always does, foolishly and fervently. She stops at the stairs to toe off her high heels and then continues up, and Rumplestiltskin watches her pale and delicate feet on the hardwood steps.

When they get to their bedroom, rain has started to pour down and after Belle has closed the door behind them, the only noise in the room is the sound of rain pounding down on the roof of the old house. The room is dark, curtains closed and lights off, the only light coming from the setting sun and Rumplestiltskin feels a headache he didn't know he had ease at the darkness.

He sits down on the bed and pulls off his suit jacket while Belle slips off her dress and everything about this is a terrible idea, but Belle is naked and soft and silhouetted by the sundown and Rumplestiltskin feels so very raw and jagged, so when she leans over to help him unbutton his shirt, his hands fall uselessly to his side.

Belle helps him undress, which only makes Rumplestiltskin feel more helpless, but when she's done she pulls the sheets aside and pushes him down into the bed and Rumplestiltskin follows her lead, like he always does. Foolishly and fervently.

Rumplestiltskin has a thousand reasons for why this relationship is a bad idea. He has a terrible history with relationships, a terrible history with women, with loving, a terrible history all around, all backstabbing and fear and hiding and running until he couldn't run anymore. He doesn't handle being powerless very well, or at all, and he hates losing. He has a temper and he finds genuine relish in hurting people, even if shame closes in after, there's a certain kind of exhilaration that comes from watching bruises bloom across someone's skin and knowing you caused them. He's always scared, always looking over his shoulder waiting for the big bad _something_ to come up and devour him whole.

And Belle, Belle is good. She's soft and sweet-faced, smiling, with a quiet strength underneath that's always waiting to surge up and protect what she thinks is important. Belle gets scared and presses forward anyway, grim determination on her face, eyes going from sky to to steel. 

It's beautiful to see, the strength of her, the way she holds her body, ready to attack or defend. Rumplestiltskin never managed that, for all his theatrics. He's never quite managed to drive the fear from his stance, the constant terror that sends his heart offbeat. Even in the Enchanted Forest as the Dark One, the Dealmaker, there was a tension to his body that he could never quite rid himself of. Belle, on the other hand, stands loose and proud and defiant, always ready to protect what's hers. She's the knight in shining armor Rumplestiltskin never succeeded in being and Rumplestiltskin hates being reminded of just how unworthy he is.

Belle makes a shushing noise, despite the fact that Rumplestiltskin hadn't said anything, and she curls up behind him, hands folding over his stomach, thumb brushing at his hip like soothing a lost animal. Rumplestiltskin brings one of his own hands down to clutch at hers, eyes closing in gratitude. He falls asleep to the rise and fall of Belle's chest behind him, the soft inhale and exhale of her breath that proves her to be alive.

 

**1\. Belle, 9.45**

Belle wakes up to the slow patter of rain on the roof. The heavy torrents from last night have stopped and it's a gentle sound now, slow and soft, and when Belle looks out the window she can see a watery sun come out.

Belle sits up, turning to look at Rumplestiltskin. He's still sleeping, curled up into himself in a way he'd never be if he were awake, knotted hair, night's worth of scruff. Belle smiles fondly, drags a thumb down his temple, his cheekbone, the hollow of his throat. He barely twitches.

It's still a little strange, seeing him asleep. It's not something she ever saw back in the Enchanted Forest and Belle still isn't really sure if he ever slept at all. Because for all that Rumplestiltskin there was human at his core, he'd never looked the part, hidden under layers of thick green skin and dragonleather and inhuman giggles.

Here, in this new realm, Rumplestiltskin is all human, yawning at the dinner table and snoring after a few glasses of wine and stumbling over his bad leg. Belle remembers waking up one morning to find him in the bathroom, shaving, straight-razor dangerously close to soft human skin, and it had felt so surreal that she'd gasped and he'd stopped and asked her if she was okay.

Rumplestiltskin makes a snuffling noise and burrows further into the blankets and Belle smiles fondly before getting out of bed. She grabs the fluffy yellow bathrobe hanging over the foot of the bed and pulls it on before slipping quietly out of the room.

Downstairs is a mess still. The kitchen lights are on and the radio is playing quietly, and the whole house still smells faintly of coal. Belle switches everything off and pulls the curtains open, opening the window a crack. It's still raining softly, but the sun brightens the kitchen. 

Belle clears last night's plates away and does the dishes, reveling in the silence of the house. She's grown fond of this house in a way she never did with the Dark Castle, has learned to love it's crowded hallways and too many rooms, dark wood and creaky floorboards. It feels like a real, proper home, warm and comforting. 

Belle only wishes other people would understand that and stop trying to convince her to leave it. It's insulting, everyone thinking they have to look out for her, thinking she can't decide for herself what she wants. The sheer arrogance of the whole of Storybrooke thinking they know what's best for her makes her skin crawl, and Belle gets a defiant little thrill out of bedding Rumplestiltskin anyway.

She knows last night will have convinced Rumplestiltskin even more of the fact that their relationship is a terrible idea, but Belle doesn't mind playing nursemaid to him every once in a while. Their relationship has a long history, complicated and multifaceted, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin are many things to each other. Sometimes she is his weakness, sometimes she has to be his strength. Belle is sometimes caretaker, sometimes lover, sometimes queen, and that's okay. She loves every role she has in his life, partner-in-crime and best friend and critic and everything else. She only wishes the others would understand.

She's finished the dishes a while ago but she's still standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lost in thought, when Rumplestiltskin comes in. He looks haggard, unshaven and leaning heavily on his cane and even if Belle hadn't seen him yesterday she'd have known it was a bad day. It weighs heavily on him, she knows, the fact that other people judge her for her relationship with him.

“Good morning,” Rumplestiltskin says after a few moments, watching her carefully.

Belle nods at him, leans back a little. He limps over to the counter until he's standing next to her and leans back as well, staring at the kitchen table. 

The clock ticks the minutes away, both of them staring at the rays of sunlight falling across the kitchen table, and finally Rumplestiltskin moves. He bumps his shoulder against hers with a hint of a smile. 

“Just wait until I tell everyone you burned dinner,” he says.

It startles a watery laugh out of Belle. “You wouldn't.”

“I would. I don't know if you've heard, but I have a fearsome reputation. I'm a real beast, dearie, eat babies for breakfast and everything.” The fact that he's joking about it now eases something inside Belle, some knot of tension that always acts up when Rumplestiltskin worries. 

“You're no beast,” she says, twining her fingers through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You're a soft-hearted old fool, you. I'm glad I love you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was mostly an excuse for me to play around with outsider!pov and write some 5 times fic for the fandom and then it turned into something more serious near the end. I don't even know. I don't have a beta or anything and this was half written on my phone while on holiday, so if anyone notices any mistakes I encourage you to point them out. ~~gently because I have a fragile ego~~


End file.
